


"You deserve good things, and I want to be one of them."

by Likorys



Series: Tumblr snippets [7]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BIG WARNING because there be consent issues, Jaskier is there to explain and help and be the supportive angle we all need in our lives, M/M, because Geralt has Issues TM and I project by own flavour of ace/aro onto him here, but it's gonna be rocky and difficult and they will mess up, but it's mentioned, but there is much talk about sex and touch and just Things being done, cause Witcher Were Made To Serve Humanity, nothing non consensual is described, of course Jaskier will deal with it, under an assumption that Geralt thinks he doesn't get the right to refuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22988626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likorys/pseuds/Likorys
Summary: "Witchers were conceived to protect and serve humankind. Witchers are made to endure. Witchers don’t feel." A century of such a mindset made Geralt assume he should agree to whatever is asked (demanded) of him, because that's what he is supposed to do. Jaskier figures it out pretty quickly, falling in love before he notices, and thus decides to do all in his power to convince Geralt that no, fuck servitude, he deserve the choice. It's complicated and they both screw up, but that's how love works.Or, in which Geralt has consent issues and his mutations don't help the matter, so Jaskier will help instead, no matter how many times he messes up along the way.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Tumblr snippets [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651510
Comments: 10
Kudos: 189





	"You deserve good things, and I want to be one of them."

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote by Ellen Hopkins.
> 
> About the warning: I wrote this chapter inspired by a post by @goldandlights, to be read here https://goldandlights.tumblr.com/post/190614403945/sorry-sorry-but-what-if-geralts-traumatic
> 
> So, about consent issues: I will tag the Rape/Non-con warning if readers feel it's warranted, but nothing like that will ever happen between Geralt and Jaskier. It might be mentioned or discussed, Jaskier or Geralt might mess up a little, but never to that degree.
> 
> My personal interpretation here (with my own issues definitely bleeding into it) is that Geralt, abandoned as a child and made into a Witcher, has the idea of owing people: he owes to be good Witcher to Vesemir for taking him in, and as a witcher, he owes people his compliance (be it with hunting a monster, leaving town, having sex or agreeing to sordid deals), with added 'agreeing is quicker and easier and brings less trouble' attitude he adapted across the years (+it was born from internet teaching me book-witchers have heightened libido).  
> Personally: I see it as ye olde marriage. There was no divorce, so a wife had a choice of putting out when the husband demanded it or being thrown onto a bed before he makes her put out. It's in this very gray area of 'I feel I'm supposed to agree and would want it in different circumstances, so is there is a difference?' with an added 'witcher mutations force your hand'. So a little like sexoholic influenced by their addiction, too.

Living close to a century, Geralt had time to ~~resigns himself~~ get used to few things constant in the life of a witcher.

The mind-boggling dichotomy of some people being so afraid to _touch_ or even _look_ at him, driving him out of towns and villages as soon as he’s slain whatever torments them; while at the same time some others scramble to try and bed him, to try and _tame the monster._ The way some mutation makes his body _crave_ the pleasure constantly, a trickle that starts slow but muddles his thoughts more and more with passing time as if his head was filling with fog, until he succumbs to make it stop for a while ~~never long enough~~ , as out of his control as everything else about his body after the trials.

_He prefers to visit brothels, because are least whores don’t try and convince them both that it’s anything more than a transaction ~~even if it doesn’t make it feel any better afterward~~ (he still keeps waiting until his control is at its limits, to prolong the time without it, even though he knows it might land him in the closest bed because there is no rule to it)._

Witchers were conceived to protect and _serve_ humankind.

Witchers are made to _endure_.

Witchers _don’t feel_.

There is very little humans could to do try and force him into their beds, so there’s no harm in agreeing just so they don’t try and weasel out of the contract ~~taking their _mockery_ of a payment~~ or so that he’s allowed to say the night before travelling again ~~as long as _they_ choose the bed.~~ Humans are ruled by their emotions and desires and petty flings and he’s _used to it._

Or so he thought, but then came Jaskier and everything got turned upon its head.

He’s not the first one to trail along Geralt to make a grab at some _fame_ , some _secrets_ to sell, some _pillow tale_ to boast in taverns or something even more stupid. He could’ve lost him at any time, **does** leave him behind on the regular and yet allows himself to be found and never truly drives the bard away (he _is_ the first one to offer anything in return ~~anything worthwhile~~ and the whispers of _Butcher of Blaviken_ wear down on Geralt more than they should ~~more than it’s proper for a witcher~~ , so much that he allows Jaskier to travel with him and protects him just for a chance to quiet them).

_Renfri never left his mind nor did the blade of guilt stop twisting in his chest with each reminder._

Geralt is also not _stupid_ and does take notice of Jaskier hitting on him from the moment the boy meets him - because bard is just a boy then, barely a man, young and clumsy with his flirting and reeking of arousal at a drop of a hat and so stupidly clingy that Geralt would have to be blind and deaf and have no sense of smell ~~or be _human_ , with their weak senses~~ to not notice how attracted Jaskier is to him.

_It’s not something he understands, abut him or any other human. It’s probably another thing **inhuman** about him - the constant, ever-present need of his body, always there and only ever muffled, twisting something that should be a sign of affection into a function as basic as eating or breathing. He doesn’t allow himself to wonder about it more than that because witchers don’t feel ~~and especially not about something as stupid as not having sex with someone who feels something above basic lust~~._

_Witchers don’t feel ~~and nobody feels for them~~._

But Jaskier never does more than throw glances at him and flirt and make air sweetly spicy with his need. Geralt is a little surprised, then curious how long bard can keep it up, but then-

Then it’s must be _months_ since they met. It’s their second winter together and the town actually _welcomed_ them, Jaskier’s songs already hummed on the streets, and they were given food and room for free _just_ for a promise of bard’s singing and Geralt’s investigation of a beast by the lake, it’s been _months_ and Jaskier delivered on his promise to fix his reputation and he still clearly wants Geralt, always comes back to trail after him after a dozen times of being ~~abandoned~~ left behind, but _it’s been months_ and-

Geralt doesn’t understand it. Not with the way Jaskier flirts with everything around him, not with the number of times he’s had to save him from jealous or vengeful spouses, not with the century of knowing humans and how easily they succumb to their desires.

_And there might be some irony here, about a witcher made to be better than humans, only to still be governed by their most basic instinct._

Geralt doesn’t understand Jaskier, but it’s been _months_ and his breath catches when he realizes he _likes this._ He likes the company and the talking and the warm body to _just_ hold close on cold nights, even if the singing and lute can grate on him, even if Jaskier keeps on getting himself into trouble with monsters meant for silver and steel alike.

It’s terrifying because he’s not naive enough to think it will last, because he knows it will break at some point, but can’t bring himself to make it happen so he just ignores it, weak enough to indulge for a little while as the companionship lasts-

_But then it does break but **still** nothing makes sense._

It’s been a week since they came upon any village and after a winter spent away from the world, Geralt is high-strung and restless. That’s how he explains to himself why he lets Jaskier manhandle him into a river after a particularly gruesome fight with a wyvern and an uncomfortable ride up and then down a steep, rocky mountain.

“You reek for _miles_ and look like a walking bait for those necro-things that feed on the dead, Geralt, and this is the first water source deeper than a puddle so you are getting a bath whether you like it or not!“ Jaskier has his hands on his hips and tries to look intimidating, but Geralt can see how crumpled his clothes are, dark bags under his eyes and dirt stuck to his skin, he can smell the exhaustion and discomfort. After months and months together, he can even notice the strain in bard’s voice, the same that comes after an evening of singing right before he retires to their room.

_They shared rooms at first because it was still a success to get one anywhere and it usually meant that Jaskier got one and let Geralt use it as well ~~even if it meant sometimes they were **both** kicked out~~. They could change it now, but Geralt’s less worried when he’s got Jaskier in the same room._

Just as he sees Jaskier’s eyes wander and smells his interest as soon as bloodied armor and clothes are on the ground. It nudges at the squashed down desires Geralt tries to keep under a lock, but it’s been a winter alone and he’s starting to lose control, _but he can’t_ , he _won’t_ be the one to break this bubble of not talking about it.

Because he noticed Jaskier singing about his adventures he never was a witness to, so it’s obvious he can continue without endangering himself by being with Geralt, so as soon as he gives up on his desire he’ll be gone _and Geralt won’t be one to start it._

_Witchers don’t feel and apparently, he’s as bad at being one as always._

They both bathe in the river and nothing happens and Geralt lets himself relax a little, but of course-

“Leave the shirt,” Jaskier’s pointedly not looking at him and busies himself gathering their washed clothes as soon as Geralt grabs for his pants. “Go lay down, I’ll hang those and then we’ll do something nice for a change.”

Geralt’s heart skips a beat and sinks at the same time, but he nods and goes to the improvised camp they started. He takes care of Roach, makes a fire and tries to squeeze the water from his hair and not to think about Jaskier getting what he wants and _leaving_.

_Witchers don’t feel and they don’t get attached. Even the shitty ones._

“Good! Fire will help.” Jaskier’s comes back and his hands are never still as he gets to his bag, ruffling through it for a moment. “You lay down, I’ve gotta- here.” He pulls out a comb and a towel and a bottle of shimmering oil and Geralt would raise a brow at how suddenly obvious he is if it wasn’t _Jaskier._

It’s still the last thing he wants to do ~~because it will mean Jaskier _leaving him_ and he doesn’t _want_ that~~, but he’s used to it, so he lets Jaskier push him onto a bedroll, onto his stomach.

“How should I-?” he shuffles, spring grass wet and squelching under his boots. “Well, it’ll be weird either way, so what’s the difference? Besides how else I’m gonna reach!” Jaskier is mumbling, probably to himself, but Geralt can still hear him and rolls his eyes.

Of all the things, he never expected Jaskier to be _shy,_ but then he wouldn’t be the first to enjoy _chasing_ a wolf and then trying to back off as soon as he _caught_ it-

Then Jaskier moves to sit on his thighs and Geralt hears and pop of a cork and it’s- confusing, he can smell chamomile and some lavender and he hears a slicking of skin but doesn’t feel anything and-

“Might still be cold.” then Jaskier is hunched above him and his voice is trembling and his hands land on his shoulders for a moment, wet with oil and warm and so _soft_ beside the fingers calloused from playing the lute-

Then they push as his stiff muscles and Geralt shakes and lets out a grumbled: “Fuck!”

“Does it hurt?” Jaskier blanches back and his hands move up, breaking the connection, but hovering close enough Geralt can still feel their warmth and he has to keep himself from pushing up.

Geralt hesitates. He doubts he read this wrong, but if Jaskier tries to make it something that it’s not ~~something more than a _little trill_ to satiate his _lust_ and _curiosity_~~ then it’s gonna be even worse after he’s gone, but Geralt’s skin still bears ghost of his touch and after days on riding horseback across a mountain he’s exhausted and Jaskier wouldn’t have as many lovers if he wasn’t good at it so maybe he can just-?

He finally shakes his head and rests it on his forearms. It doesn’t escape him how the move shifts Jaskier, still sat on his legs, and the way bard’s breath hitches and the spices of lust show in his smell.

He tries not to feel disappointed by being right ~~he fails~~.

Jaskier breaths in and out, moving around a little before he’s bending down.

“Say if it does. I’ve got one that should be relaxing, but it’s peppermint and even I don’t like _that_ smell, so you’d probably hate it…” he says a little steadier and then his hands are back on Geralt’s back, first few moves slow and careful before Jaskier’s pushing down again.

Geralt shudders and closes his eyes and lets it happen. It might hurt even more than he tried ~~and failed~~ to prepare himself for, but at least for now it’s pleasant.

He dealt with worse. At least here he can tell himself Jaskier at least enjoys his company to some extent, otherwise, he’d be gone way before they reached this point.

It’s the best a witcher can hope for so he’ll get what he can.

* * *

Jaskier bites his lip till it hurts, trying to steady his hands. It’s easier said than done when he’s got them over witcher’s back and feels every muscle move and spasm as he tries to coax them into relaxing.

His position on Geralt’s tight only makes it worse, because he moves every time he shifts under his massage and the silk pants are lovely, but also the last thing that will hide his arousal and _he can’t._

He can be honest enough to admit he went after Geralt because he was absolutely gorgeous and that he made an _absolute mess_ of himself when he tried to make it known. It went about as well as trying to _stop_ lusting after clearly not interested witcher, but here he is _in a panic_ , because he wanted to be _nice_ and offer some massage, but he couldn’t even stop himself from ogling Geralt when they took a bath in the river, his eyes trailing after water as it went down the muscled chest and got lost in white hair trailing down his stomach and-

 _Fuck_ , wrong train of thought, derail!

“So!” He starts and his voice does not crack at all, thank you very much. “Any idea where we’re going next? The mayor seems nice enough, so we might get paid without trouble for once…” he trails off, because-

Well. He’s not the best at reading people sometimes, and Geralt is a new language in and of himself. He’s learning, he can now see when any company wears down on him and notice the point after which he’d probably find himself waking up alone in a room, witcher long gone, but it’s a slow process and he’s not always sure he gets it right, but-

Maybe it is just that his hands are currently gliding along witcher’s spine, slowly trying to relax it into something other than ramrod straight, but-

Geralt’s always got tetchy when the kill was done, head or some other proof on Roach’s back and only taking the payment left from the whole ordeal. Jaskier assumed it was just that people would try to cheat him out of payment, he saw it happen enough times to fuel a dozen furious songs with very blatant name-drops of villages that seemed happy to use a witcher, yet not as willing to pay for his service, but-

He doesn’t think it’s _just_ that. He noticed it at some small castle or other, where Geralt got to kill a siren who lured out and killed a lord. His wife was happy to pay, but equally as happy to keep them both for a night of _free entertainment_ and Jaskier for a moment was sure Geralt would strike her where she stood, such was the depth of discomfort and _no_ -ness that emanated from him for a moment, but-

Then he shrugged and just looked at Jaskier who stumbled through a pathetic excuse about lectures in Oxenfurt that Geralt is supposed to escort him to. It was weird and they never talked about it, so Jaskier tried to ignore it, but-

 **But**. Then he started to look at Geralt closer, truly trying to learn how he behaves so he can understand him better, and that lady wasn’t the only one it happened with and he tries not to read too much into fleeting glances and aborted moves and cut off sentences, but-

Well. There is something wrong about witcher and sex. He has no idea what it is, but he _knows_ something is going on and _it’s been eating him alive_ for almost a year now.

Because he’d seen Geralt refuse offers of free sex time and time again and then lock himself in a brothel for days with no warning (or consideration for their budget).

Jaskier already saw all the times that Geralt would agree to _just one more_ monster hunt, despite clearly wanting to do anything else under the sun. He assumed it was just the way of the witcher, they were made to protect humans from beasts so maybe it was just a twisted sense of obligation, but-

He sighed and reached for oil again.

“Cold,” he mumbles in a way of a warning as he spilled a bit on Geralt’s back, before slowly working it into his sides and spine, gradually coming lover.

Witcher was almost docile under him, shifting and flinching and shuddering, grunts and occasional swears only sign he hasn’t fallen asleep, _and yet_.

Geralt was so clearly still tense, holding himself on guard, and Jaskier could swear he froze in place when he opened the bottle again.

He might just be a bard and not know much about witchers, but he knows enough about humans and touch and sex, and the thoughts that come to his mind when he thinks about Geralt’s behavior are too painful to fully form and always kill any of his arousals before he gets the balls to open his mouth and ask about _anything_.

It made for this weird dance he does around the witcher, like a lovesick teenager that comes to the door of his love’s bedroom and just stands there, pacing forever.

It would’ve been easier if he didn’t stupidly _fall in love_ , because that’s what messed it all up. The fact that’s in not just a random lay he’s gonna leave behind and never remember, that’s Geralt and he _cares_ about him and it’s a first time Jaskier doesn’t know what to do because anything can break the- whatever they have right now, and he’d rather suffer uncertainty and heartache till his dying breath than loose Geralt.

He sighs again, hands sliding up Geralt’s spine and thumbs pressing alongside it, skin slick with oil and warm, but muscles still tenses under his touch.

“You know, staying so stiff kinda defeats the whole purpose of a massage,” he says with a forced laugh, but never moves his hands, trailing his fingers in circles along witcher’s shoulder blades as he sees Geralt’s fist clench on the fabric of the bedroll.

“Then stop the foreplay and _get on with it,_ bard.” Geralt’s voice is rough and half-muffled by his arm, but Jaskier is close enough to hear it.

Every other time he’d melt and probably do something stupid like kiss the witcher in public, but his hands are still over his back and he can feel the muscles spasm before Geralt tries to force himself to relax.

So, yeah. There is definitely _something_ about his witcher and sex and Jaskier’s not desperate or vile enough to ignore it (and he has to swallow the bile in his throat at the thought that he clearly is _not the norm_ ).

“I’m gonna be blunt and _assume_ you meant foreplay as language intended, Geralt, but if you didn’t it’s a _great time_ to correct me right about **now** ,” he starts, his voice high-pitched from nerves and his stomach twisting into knots that would probably hold down a dragon.

Geralt turns his head like he wants to look at him, but he’d have to move his hair for it. His hands stay clutching at the bedroll.

“That’s what you want.” He says like it’s obvious and, well, _maybe_ it is, Jaskier’s never been shy on his desires, but-

There is such a clear _you want_ and nothing about _I_ and bile rises to his throat again.

“And would _you_ want to?” he forced out and this time Geralt absolutely freezes under him for a good moment or two, before he’s biting out:

“I wouldn’t tell you to if I wasn’t gonna let-”

“I know _you’d let me_ , Geralt.” Jaskier hates how sure he is of it and suddenly he feels so far away from the witcher it is painful, too painful, like the knots are tied around his heart as well and any space between him and Geralt’s skin pulls them taut, so he leans down, resting his forehead by the nape of Geralt’s neck, tangled hair tickling his skin. “I’m asking if you’d want to.” He takes in a breath, holds it, and then let’s the proverbial shoe drop: “B-because I’ve been _watching_ you and I know you _do_ sex and probably _like it_ but- I don’t think you want it _every_ time.”

* * *

Geralt’s knew it was a bad idea, but this was the last thing he expected.

He prepared himself for Jaskier finally asking for a fuck and then leaving, either because he got it or the opposite. He thought getting some closeness beforehand wouldn’t change it that much, only how long it’ll hurt when he’s gone.

But Jaskier, as _fucking_ always, never sticks to rules or what Geralt expects, and here they are, bard half laying on him and probably getting oil on his clothes, his hands trembling on his back, his smell soured by pure horror for the first time since they met and-

And he’s asked for sex, but he’s also asking what Geralt _wants_ and he seems to _suspect_ something and-

He should throw him off. Put on his clothes, ride off and give them both time so they can pretend none of it happened when they meet again, _but he doesn’t._

Because Jaskier was tied up and beaten up by elves, he saw drowners and vampires and cockatrice and necrophages, he saw Geralt under the effects of his potions, he heard about the striga and saw the scar by his neck, but _this_ is the first time he smells of such pure terror that Geralt’s feel nauseated.

Because it shouldn’t matter, it can’t matter. He didn’t _want_ to be left at Kaer Morhen, he didn’t _want_ to be mutated more than other because he showed promise, he didn’t _want_ to be caught between Renfri and Stregobor, he didn’t w _ant_ humans to hate him like a plague (or to lust after him like a prize to win either), he didn’t _want_ any of it, but that’s his life and he accepted it, _so why is Jaskier making it difficult?_

Why did he have to stay with him, why did he have to notice and why can’t he just ignore it?

“Makes no difference.” He hissed between clenched teeth because he can’t let himself break down.

Jaskier is off him in seconds, slick hands grasping as his arm to push him up and Geralt slowly sits, keeping his eyes down.

Ten Jaskier _slaps him_ hard enough to throw his head to the side.

* * *

“Fuck!” Jaskier rubs his hands together, shuddering from the pain and wondering what the hell are witcher’s bones made of because Geralt’s jaw must be pure steel.

Then the shock fades under the avalanche of _misery_ that’s the realization that Geralt doesn’t seem to think he deserves to refuse what he doesn’t want to do, and Jaskier’s heart was already broken into pieces, but now it feels like they’re being ground to dust in a mortar.

“It makes all the difference!” he snaps, wiping his oily hands on his shirt before rubbing at his eyes.

Geralt doesn’t react beside a stiff shrug and still isn’t looking at him and _it hurts to be so far **again**_ so he lunges. He’s half-way into a hug, arms around the witcher and hovering beside his skin, but he forces himself to still and take a deep breath.

“…you’ll tell me _if_ you want this or I’m not touching you.” he whispers, his voice hoarse and broken like after overdoing a performance. “ _This_ being a hug, Geralt, and absolutely nothing more.” He adds after a breath, shuddering at the fact that he feels the need to.

They stay like this for a good moment, forever, long enough that Jaskier’s arms start to shake from the straining position and the fire dims down a little.

Then Geralt nods, a barely-there sudden snap of his head, and Jaskier slowly moves closer.

“It’s all the difference,” he repeats and bites down on anything else he wants to say. “I’m not sure what _vile excuses for humans_ you’ve met so far, but I’m _not_ gonna fuck of into the sunset because you won’t put out.” 

_There are a dozen songs twirling in his head, songs of pain and betrayal and hatred and very painful and prolonged deaths for those who made Geralt be like this._

_There’s a lot of monsters – only **some** of them aren’t human and **they** dish out the punishment._

“I’m not gonna fuck off, _period_ , Geralt.” Jaskier slowly allows himself to get closer, slotting between Geralt’s legs and deliberately keeping himself a bit sideways, so nothing would be even slightly suggestive. He rests his head on the witcher’s temple and slowly brushes his fingers over white hair, trying to avoid the tangles. “I’ve tolerated you for 3 years now and if you think-!” He swallows down his wounded pride (because he wonders what made Geralt thinks so lowly of him, even if he knows _he_ didn’t do anything) and corrects himself: “Whatever made you fear I’m just gonna – go away if you spread your legs – or if you don’t, or – something- I’m not. I’m not going anywhere.”

He keeps it vulgar and awful in hopes of getting it through Geralt’s head and twisted mindset that this is about something much more.

He’ doesn’t want to say he loves him, he doesn’t want to scare him, so instead, he says:

“I care about you, however weird it might seem to you. More than enough to stay even if my little desire _never_ get’s fulfilled.” he can feel Geralt snort, his chest shaking a little and Jaskier could weep with relief because he’s not sitting like a statue anymore, but he forces himself to keep his voice level and hides his wet eyes in witcher’s hair. “I’ll stay if you refuse today, if you refuse every time, and even if you don’t let me touch you _ever again_. You get to choose that **with me** , I swear that you do!” he hesitates, because it all sounds nice but he prefers to be realistic, so he adds: “I’ll probably bitch about it, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not gonna leave you. And right now I’d like to brush your hair because it’s a mess, so I’d have to touch it to do so, but then we will both sleep through the night. You can keep the bedroll and I’ll watch the fire, because it’s gonna be fucking cold, but we’re not sleeping together unless _you_ want to.”

He’s still moving finger through his hair and his free hand moves in lazy patterns on his arm. His legs are twisted and starting to fall asleep, but he’s ready to sit here the whole fucking night if that’s what it takes.

* * *

Geralt feels dizzy.

This whole conversation seems to break every bit of self-control he gained over the years and he can’t find his voice, so he just lets Jaskier go on, but it only makes it worse and-

He snorts at the idea of Jaskier keeping _any form_ of celibate, but then Jaskier is talking again and-

_You get to choose that **with me** , I swear that you do!_

And that’s the escape clause for him, isn’t it? To make it about just two of them being different, without addressing anything else happening here.

It scares him how much he wants to go for it. To get back to being maybe-friends and to pretend this night never happened. How much he wants to keep Jaskier, whatever it takes.

It would be an easier option, wouldn’t it?

Easier than thinking about any of this, than suddenly getting to decide what they do and when, getting to decide about himself for the first time in his life.

“…and by sleeping you mean-?” he says finally, every word stilted and slow, but there is a quirk to his lips and Jaskier laughs, a short and breathless little thing that seems to surprise him too, before he’s shaking his head.

“That we put on our clothes and keep each other warm and absolutely nothing else.” Jaskier pulls at a tangle in his hair and then slowly moves away.

His hand moves to rest on Geralt’s cheek, and he’s made to look bard in the eyes and for a moment he lets himself drown in the blue (in the pain and that still clings to him, sour and now embittered with sorrow, but soothed around the edges with little hope).

Geralt hesitated again, then nods.

* * *

“Thank gods.” Jaskier lets out a breath and rests his forehead on Geralt’s, closing his eyes and for a moment just staying like that, before he moves away.

He washes off the oil, then checks on their clothes, but they’re still damp so he sits behind the witcher and reaches for the comb.

“Say if it hurts,” he asks gently, fingers gathering white hair shining silver in the low light of the moon.

It takes a long minute before Geralt _gets it_ and nods.

“Okay then.” Jaskier pulls his head back a little and then gets to untangling the mess before him.

When he’s finished, the fire needs to be coaxed back to life. He leaves witcher to it and goes to get their clothes. They both dress and there is another moment of pointed silence, Geralt sitting on the bedroll and looking at the flames and Jaskier sitting a little to his side.

Then Geralt grabs for his sleeve and brings him closer and they lay down in a move so practiced it’s a familiar comfort.

Jaskier always took for granted that they shared the bedroll or the bed and the rooms, no matter their budget. Geralt said it was to keep Jaskier safer and so he can leave his things with someone instead of putting Roach in danger.

He hopes it doesn’t change, but swears he’s not gonna complain if it does.

They both get comfortable, he makes Geralt promise he’ll kick him off if he clings to much, then soon after he falls asleep.

_He dreams of cockatrices and drowners and other beasts, and monsters which are torn apart under their claws and teeth._

**********************

Geralt wakes up first, because Jaskier twisted in his sleep and is now mumbling something into his neck. He’s also got their legs tangled together, he’s hard and grinding against his thigh.

He gives a tough to just letting it happen, because Jaskier _cares_ so much and so clearly that surely it will be different, but-

He _promised him_ yesterday, so he grabs his hips to push him back and shakes him by the arm.

Jaskier blinks at him, half-awake, letting a disgruntled moan and Geralt holds his breath for a moment, tense and waiting for it all to go like always and trying to not feel _anything_ -

Then Jaskier is cursing and getting up, before he stumbles back towards the river. He’s back after a while, his hair damp and not a hint of arousal on him, but instead a sweetly cloying smell that Geralt hesitantly dubbed _love_ from all the newlyweds and fresh parents he met in his life.

He grumbles about being cold, but accepts Geralt’s coat and nothing else without batting an eye, so he sits by him and gets to restarting the fire.

Jaskier puts his head on his arm and makes a questioning hum. Geralt doesn’t answer, but doesn’t push him away.

**Author's Note:**

> It's posted as incomplete, but it'll be more of self-contained chapters I will post whenever an idea strikes me.


End file.
